


The Wounded Warrior

by Wayward_Angel13



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Poetry, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Dean Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Dean Winchester in Hell, Dean Winchester is John's Good Little Soldier, Demon Dean Winchester, Endverse Dean Winchester - Freeform, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Open to Interpretation, Poetry, Post-Demon Dean Winchester, Quote: I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. (Supernatural), School, Smart Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Angel13/pseuds/Wayward_Angel13
Summary: Dean Winchester needs a break.(This is totally open to interpretation, but the subject is Dean. I took some liberties, but it's a wee bit depressing, soooo...There is a happy ending though.)
Kudos: 7





	The Wounded Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I won't lie. This poem totally sucks. 😂
> 
> My mom's in the process of moving out of my childhood home and I've been helping with it, and, while I was cleaning out my old bedroom, I found a poetry book that I wrote for my Freshman Honors Lit class. And I had totally forgotten I wrote a poem about Dean Winchester.
> 
> So enjoy if you can, but this is... interesting.
> 
> I'm publishing it as it was, so there's that too.

No one could bear to face his eyes  
as he peered up at the sky haunted  
by loss. Rivers silently poured down his  
face as flames danced up around  
him, burning his skin. At this moment he realized he was alone.

When his brother reluctantly showed  
his face once more, he was  
ecstatic. Two months later he came out  
of it used and abused, once more longing  
for a family who would accept him for who he is.  
At that moment, he realized he had nothing.

He had his wheels as his only home,  
never stopping to take a break from it all  
and process it for his own good.  
Never once did he stop,  
nor did the slow crumbling of his mind.  
He just kept going.

Now, he had brains and he had skills;  
he knew how to defend himself and others.  
For those to which he was loyal he gave everything,  
spread himself as thin as putty,  
if not thinner.  
He just kept going.

This led his aching soul to places of  
which he had had no idea. Dark places,  
vines of corruption weaving their way  
through the untended garden of his broken  
spirit. At this moment, he knew he was gone.

Weary and scarred, he laid down just  
to wake up in a world he knew quite well;  
a world filled with pain, sorrow, and torment.  
The smell of fear and taste of ashes became too much to bear  
as he listened to the cries of the lost.

He endured and adapted, turning into something he  
wouldn't have recognized. Then, one day, he saw  
a hand reach for him through this hell.  
And, at that moment, he knew he was saved.


End file.
